La Belle au Bois Dormant
by The Mighty Meatloaf
Summary: Before Talon, Overwatch, or Blackwatch, before her life was ripped from her hands, before she was shaped into an assassin whose heart barely pulsed, she was Amélie Guillard. The story of Gérard and Amélie, from the beginning. Slight canon divergence- Amélie will play a larger role in Overwatch operations than simply being Gérard's wife.
1. Scène Dansante

Tchaikovsky demanded Amélie's attention as she took the stage, the orchestra swelling behind her grand entrance. Lace and tulle fanned out from her hips, and her dark hair, bound in a tight bun, was crowned with a glittering diadem that caught the rays of brightness from the spotlights above. This was her moment- her element, her world of song and dance and joyous movement, of unceasing melodies and graceful pirouettes, of celebrating life through every stanza. Amélie never wanted anything else.

Of course, this was far from her first performance. Amélie Guillard's repertoire of leading roles and flawless technical performances had already spread throughout the Parisian ballet world. Quite a crowd had attended tonight's show; the theater was packed. The Théâtre du Châtelet was almost as lavish as the actors' costumes, its golden walls and meticulous murals offering an almost overwhelming visual spectacle when paired with the lush and magnificent ballet. And Amélie was the center of it all.

As she focused on the music, her muscles flexed and guided her through the difficult routine. Ballet had been her calling since she was a child; her mother had demanded that Amélie pick some type of classical training, be it in piano, violin, or dance. Amélie was too impatient for the arduous piano lessons- she could never sit still long enough, always fidgeting or daydreaming about adventures beyond their family's penthouse suite. No, piano didn't last long at all, and she was forced into ballet by her irritated parents. Thankfully, she excelled.

And so, tonight, she twirled about the stage, sharing her joy and her passion with the world through her precise movements and entrancing grace. As she reached the end of the dance, her partner caught her about the waist and lifted her into the air, throwing her above his head as she spun before descending once more into his waiting arms. They danced one last bout together before the music began to swell for the last time, and finally, it ceased- only to be replaced by the thunderous applause.

After the end of the performance, Amélie ducked backstage, weaving through throngs of performers attempting to remove their now-cumbersome tutus and frills. This was her true home- the hustle and bustle of stage productions made her feel truly alive like nothing else ever could, and she couldn't help the small smile that broke her typical placid expression. She tucked herself against a wall as stagehands labored to drag a large set piece backstage, and took a moment just to watch the chaotic life all around her.

She was far from old, but many of the younger dancers were barely adults, many fresh out of dance academies from across Europe. They all tended to skirt away from the rather quiet, aristocratic prima ballerina who danced like it was her reason to exist, although they certainly harbored no ill feelings, other than twinges of jealousy. Amélie's twenty-sixth birthday was approaching soon, and prickles of anxiety had begun to flit across her mind concerning the remaining length of her professional career, but she brushed them aside. She would dance for as long as she could, and that was that.

A voice trilled from amongst the crowded backstage hallways.

"Amélie? Amélie, where are you, _ma chérie?_ "

A young, blonde slip of a girl pushed her way towards Amélie, fighting against the tide of stagehands and ballerinas. The prima ballerina straightened and reached out into the crowd, snagging the blonde girl by the arm and pulling her quickly to her side.

"Hello, Simone," she said, offering a small, sincere smile. "You performed beautifully today, _ma crevette._ It is always a joy to share the stage with you."

Simone Lacroix beamed, a blush overtaking her face.

" _Merci_ , Amélie. Although, I haven't seen you so happy on stage since you played Odette- what was it-" she paused, chewing her lip, "oh, mon Dieu, that was almost three years ago! I didn't think it had been so long!

Amélie hummed in agreement. "It certainly doesn't seem like it. I still remember Madame Bernard ranting about your tutu because you-"

Simone's laughter interrupted her. "-because I fell over in the dressing room and managed to spill my face powder literally everywhere."

The two women giggled at the memory, glittering in their costumes and catching the light as they spoke.

Simone tilted her head, eyes bright. "Say, _ma chérie_ , why don't we clean up, get changed, and grab dinner together? You _are_ my favorite coworker, and I think we should celebrate our opening night's success."

Her dark-haired friend hesitated, biting her lip in thought. Amélie was always quiet- so quiet that many of the other girls didn't bother trying to talk with her much anymore.

After a moment, she shook her head.

"Ah, _ma crevette_ , I would love to, but I need to soak my feet and rest. That last routine is exhausting," she sighed, a lingering trace of guilt in her voice. The younger girl waved off her concerns.

"It is understandable, Amélie. But-"

Amelie raised an eyebrow.

"But, how about on Tuesday night instead? Please? I really _would_ like to catch up for a while. And, my brother will be in Paris for the week! I think the two of you would get along splendidly." Simone looked imploringly up at her taller friend, waiting for a response.

Amélie sighed inwardly. Her parents had been enough to deal with when she was younger- always trying to pair her with the sons of France's most accomplished families. Now, her dearest work friend was attempting to throw her brother at her, too. She truly wanted to turn down _any_ social outing; curling up in her flat, tea in one hand and a book in the other, sounded ideal. With such intensive and demanding work, her days off were precious. Still, she did acknowledge that she truly valued Simone's company at the theater; she didn't want to scare her only true friend off with a perceived air of disinterest.

After a few more moments of deliberation, she offered a weak smile.

"Very well, _ma crevette_. Just let me know where you'd like to go, and I'll be there."

Simone's smile once again dominated her open, friendly face. "Oh, truly? I'm so glad, Amélie! I'll tell my brother to be on his best behaviour, and we'll all have a wonderful time."

With that, the smaller ballerina turned and left Amélie to her thoughts.

She sighed to herself. It was just one dinner- how much could happen during a single night out?

…


	2. Le Café

Amélie changed out of her lavish costume as quickly as she could, heading home right after the night's end. While some of the cast had arranged a wild, carefree party to celebrate opening night's success, she had no interest in such an event; her anxiety spiked slightly even thinking of the tight crows, rowdy party-goers, and alcoholic escapades she would have to endure if she attended. No, tonight was for her; she would celebrate in her own way.

After donning her most comfortable yoga pants and pajama top, Amélie filled a large tub with water and set it next to her couch. Wincing, she focused on her feet.

Ballet was her passion, her joy, and her reason to live; however, it did come with drawbacks. Her feet were absolutely riddled with angry red sores and scabs as a result of years and years spent en pointe, dedicated solely to her dancing. She filled the tub with hot water and cautiously sank her tired, sore feet into the heat, hissing slightly at the pain. After situating herself, she grabbed a book and breathed in once, deeply, savoring the peace and quiet. Humming to herself, she tapped her fingers against the couch's arm, never completely still, always dancing to some little melody within her head.

It had been several years since she moved into this flat; she loved its view from the balcony that overlooked the city streets below, and she would watch the hustle and bustle of the morning when she awoke, dreamily observing the world from her favorite vantage point. The flat offered her a private retreat, a space meant only for her where solitude was almost guaranteed. She wouldn't want it any other way.

She frowned a little, thinking. Perhaps...she should have attended that party- she knew the others didn't know what to think of her, and if it wasn't for Simone, she truly would have no one to speak with outside of discussing stage directions or choreography. She still didn't know why Simone was so stubborn about sticking to her side- although she was glad for the girl's company. Amélie was truly only two years older than her tiny blonde friend, but sometimes it seemed like a world of difference. Simone was the only reason she could be dragged out of her apartment other than work. Perhaps she should try and initiate plans more often; after all, Simone was always the one to start their outings, and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. Amélie was sure her mother would be appalled with her hermit-like activity if she was alive to see her now.

After an hour or so, she stretched and gingerly removed her feet from the tub, bandaging the worst welts and wrapping them in gauze. She limped to the bedroom, a small space which offered only her bed itself and a writing desk covered with loose papers; her own thin and delicate handwriting wove across the pages, forming a letter that she knew she would never send, rephrasing sentences that would never be read.

She sighed.

It had been a long day.

….

The weekend passed in a blur of orchestral music, pirouettes, thunderous applause, and quiet nights. Monday morning arrived.

While in the midst of preparing her daily cup of tea, the sound of someone pounding on her door startled Amélie half to death. Hurrying over, she glanced through the peephole and huffed exasperatedly, turning the lock and allowing a few inches of space to open. 

"Bonjour, Amélie!" Simone's smile was charged with energy, her happiness bubbling through the doorframe. 

The older dancer sighed. "Simone. We agreed to Tuesday, did we not?" 

"Yes,we did, but-" 

Amélie cocked an eyebrow, hiding her amusement. "You do know that I have a phone, do you not?" 

Simone puckered her lips and raised an eyebrow in return.

"I do, but I also know that my beloved coworker won't even touch it unless it's an emergency." 

The door opened completely, and Simone beamed, bouncing inside and flopping onto the couch.

Amélie rolled her eyes. " _Ma crevette_ , did you come over here to see me, or to steal my furniture?" 

Simone giggled. "Oh, Amélie, you wound me. No, I wanted to ask if you have a restaurant preference for tomorrow. Remember? I was thinking we could go to that cute Japanese bistro a few blocks from here, or maybe the Italian place we tried a few weeks ago-" 

Amélie was fairly certain that French cuisine would be the superior choice, but she listened to Simone's ramblings for a few minutes. Biting her lip, she wondered if it would be worth asking to adjust their plans. Perhaps they could spend time together exploring Paris; at least, Simone would love that. They didn't often do much other than share a meal or spend time at each other's flats on occasion. 

"-and, oh, hmm, what else is there… ah! That tapas place closer to the city center, with the delicious-"

"Does your brother have a preference? After all, he is your guest," inquired the older dancer. She wondered if Simone's brother was as bouncy and joyous as his sister. She wasn't sure if she could handle two of them.

Simone tsked, and waved her hands as if dismissing the notion entirely. "If Gérard picked, we'd only eat foie gras and crépes. He's so boring."

Amelie laughed to herself. "You've listed many of the finest restaurants in Paris, but I think we might be most comfortable in a café. What if we meet for brunch instead of dinner? Then, we might be able to walk around the city together for a bit."

There- she had tried.

Her friend sucked in a cheek, worrying at it while she thought. "I suppose, although that's not as fun or exciting as a Michelin Star-rated bistro."

"I… might know a place," offered Amélie tentatively. "It's a tiny café with the best crépes in the world, and I know you certainly have a sweet tooth for a good strawberry and chocolate crépe, _ma crevette._ "

Simone paused. Amélie never offered to take charge of plans- either the crépes truly were heavenly, or her friend was actually trying to encourage a social outing. Weird.

…. 

Paris during September was beautiful, and that Tuesday was especially so. The weather was just cool enough to wear a light sweater, and the leaves promised to change at any moment; touches of orange already danced amongst the greenery. Amélie smiled to herself as she dutifully walked alongside her tiny friend; they were an odd couple, with Amélie standing two or three heads higher than the younger ballerina. Amélie was clothed in a loose, long maxi dress and a sweater; she hated anything skin-tight outside of work, and any time without a constricting bodice or tights was something to embrace. The fall breeze brushed against her, comfortable and not yet truly chilly.

The café was nestled within an older city block, and its door was propped open, inviting customers to sample whatever was producing the divine, sweet smell from inside. The two women stood outside, waiting on their third companion.

Amélie glanced quizzically over at Simone. "Why didn't he just walk over with you?" 

The blonde shrugged. "Gérard started a new job recently. Something- I don't know." She wiggled her fingers in the air towards Amélie. "Something super secret, or too boring to talk about, I think. One or the other. He doesn't like to bring it up, and he's so painfully obvious when he's trying to avoid a topic. He's not even staying with me at my flat- apparently, his employers are rich enough to take care of his hotel." 

Amélie shrugged. As long as the man wasn't sour company, she didn't mind certain topics being off-limits. And if he was unpleasant- well, she had no idea how he could be related to Simone in any way.

They waited together for a few more minutes before a taxi pulled over to the curb, and watched as the door opened.

Amélie studied him as he stepped out of the vehicle. Gérard Lacroix was a smartly dressed man, his pressed suit and meticulously shaped pencil moustache giving him an air of professionalism. His dark brown, nearly black hair was rather out of shape- its ruffled and unkempt nature seemed odd, as if he had repeatedly run his hands through it and forgotten to pat it back into place. Whatever gel he used to style it was working against him, as it held the awkward strands in their strange arrangement.

He took a moment to brush off invisible crumbs on the front of his jacket before he quickly stepped over to her and Simone, a smile already forming. Deep, dark circles of exhaustion sat below his warm, brown eyes.

"Salut, Simone! Je suis désolé, I was-"

"What, caught up in your work again? You kept two classy women waiting on you, you oaf." Simone stuck out her tongue. Amélie hid a grin behind her hand, simply watching the two siblings. They were so different- they barely looked related, although Simone's dyed blonde hair didn't help. He was tall, dwarfing his tiny sister; he was even a head taller than Amélie.

Gerard sighed, placing his hand over his heart. "Ah, ma petite soeur, you wound me."

Amélie rolled her eyes. They were related, after all.

His eyes darted over to the dark-haired ballerina, and he straightened, dropping his mischievous act for a moment.

"Bonjour, miss. You must be Amélie Guillard- it is a pleasure and an honor to finally meet the friend my sister has told me so much about," he said, extending a hand to capture hers and offering a gentle handshake.

Amélie smiled, returning the gesture. "Hello, Gérard. A pleasure, as well."

Simone positively beamed. "Finally! My favorite people, all here. All two of you."

….

The café smelled of sweet pastries and strong coffee, enticing customers to try their many delicacies. Amélie settled at their small table after the omnic behind the counter handed her a delectable pain au chocolat and a cappuccino.

"So!" Gérard began, "I've heard only magnificent things about your latest show, Simone."

Her friend nodded eagerly. "It's beautiful, Gérard. I can get you a ticket or two if you'd like to come and see it on Friday!"

The man pursed his lips for a moment; he had a strong jaw, but pointed and angular facial features, emphasized by a thin, long nose.

"I would love to go, but it depends on-"

Simone huffed, impatient. "I know, I know, your job. Just invite your boss, too, lavette."

Gérard snorted into his latté. "Now that's laughable. Not going to happen in a million years."

Amélie watched as the two bickered back and forth for a few minutes, silently enjoying the comfortable atmosphere of the café. Finally, Gérard waved away his sister, who had begun encroaching on his personal space, menacingly brandishing a fork.

"Of course I'll be there, Simone. What kind of monstrously awful brother would I be if I didn't see your latest show?" Gérard smiled, patting his sister on the arm. He turned to Amélie.

"And I understand I'll have the pleasure of seeing you perform, as well!"

She nodded politely, primly sipping her cappuccino. "Oui."

Simone rolled her eyes. "She's the star of the ballet. Ma chere, at least act a little proud."

Gérard nudged his sister. "Come now, Simone. A little modesty never hurt anyone. Still, though, how exciting to be the lead role!"

Simone nodded in agreement before turning back to her brother. She grabbed him by the chin, tilting it down to better inspect the unhealthy purple under his eyes. "Gérard, if you show up to our performance and sleep through the whole thing…" her voice trailed, a hint of warning creeping through her typical bubbly tone.

He sighed. "I know it looks terrible." He glanced up at Amélie. "I swear I clean up a little better than this, usually," he offered, joking, although a light dusting of red rose to his cheeks as his sister continued hounding him.

"Gérard, you can't work yourself to death like this. What in the world is so important that it's pushed you half into a coffin already?" Simone asked, exasperated.

Her brother stiffened, his relaxed demeanor clamming up. "Simone…I can't talk about work, and you know that."

His sister sighed. "I do know. It's just a little alarming."

He sighed once more, then downed the rest of his latté. "I'll get some rest and then visit backstage before the ballet starts, alright, petite soeur? I promise I'll watch every second. I do have to leave now, though," he stated, glancing at his watch.

Amélie watched as he stood, a little unsteady on his feet. The man truly did look exhausted.

"I'll see you ladies in a few days." Gérard smiled and offered a small wave as he walked out, leaving the two women to finish their pastries in thoughtful silence.

…...


	3. Une Danse de Rouge

**Chapter Three-** _ **Une Danse de Rouge**_

Simone was quiet after her brother's abrupt departure, and the crease between her eyebrows revealed her silent frustration. She stared down into her coffee, as if studying each and every swirl of foam. Amélie gently reached across the table and laid her hand on top of her friend's, squeezing it briefly.

"Simone?"

Her friend snapped to attention. "Oh, pardon, Amélie." She began to fidget before forcing a bright smile that failed to crinkle the corners of her eyes. "Why don't we go to the Jardin des Plantes, ma chérie? We can spend the day out and about, like you wanted."

The taller dancer nodded in agreement. "That sounds lovely, ma crevette."  
She didn't push any further about Gérard; if Simone wanted to speak about the subject any more, she would bring it up on her own. Sometimes, Simone needed to ruminate on a topic before she knew how to express what she truly felt.

The women finished their pastries and stood, gathering their purses and belongings before walking out of the café and hailing the next taxi.

….

The Jardin des Plantes was beautiful. Its greenhouses, museum, and grounds offered many new places to explore, and it felt like a peaceful way to spend an afternoon. Tourists and Parisians alike wandered the trails that led to the Muséum national d'histoire naturelle, its stately appearance adding a sense of formality and grandeur to the site. They walked in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the day together. Eventually, they decided to enter one of the greenhouses. 

The hot, sticky air inside immediately made Amélie regret that decision, but Simone was enraptured by the vivid reds, violets, and yellows of the exotic flowers all around them. They wove through the small groups of other sightseers, slipping through with grace and ease. The pair continued further into the artificial rainforest, with Simone exclaiming over every new flower. To Amélie's surprise, a collection of birds flitted to and fro above them, their bright flashes of color drawing her eye as she watched. They trilled and chirped melodies entirely foreign to those who lived in Paris, and Amélie forgot the humidity as she smiled to herself, listening to the fragmented songs around her.

They stayed in the greenhouse for over a half hour, each woman drawing the other's attention to a new favorite plant or bird. Simone snapped a few pictures for her blog and convinced a hesitant Amélie to take a selfie with her, capturing a huge, yellow flower behind them. Simone giggled, then turned back to the plant and studied it further.

Amélie smiled as she observed her friend. She was glad they had done this- sometimes, ballet consumed both of their lives, and they forgot how to live outside of their rehearsal routines or performances. She surveyed the greenhouse, admiring the luscious setting once more, before a small, sour chord played in the back of her mind.

Puzzled, she stopped moving and attempted to place what was wrong. The birds chirped, the humid air pressed against her, and the plants swayed in an artificial breeze. A burbling water feature bubbled happily behind her, and a few insects chirped as they flitted through the air. She was surrounded by the sounds of nature.

Nature, but- no other people were in the greenhouse, when there had been dozens before.

Amélie froze, events from years before rising in front of her eyes, memories she longed to reject and ignore. It was too quiet, and too empty, and too fake.

Gracefully swiveling on her heel, she swept back to her friend and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Simone," she pressed through clenched teeth, "when did you last see another visitor?"

Her friend, lips parted to begin protesting Amélie's vice-like grip on her arm, froze; eyes wide, Simone shook her head, just a little. 

"I- I'm not sure, Amélie."

The dark-haired woman exhaled sharply. This was- not normal.

"Simone, I think we need to leave. Something isn't right here."

Even as she spoke, heavy footsteps stomped down the pathways from several meters behind them.

"Amélie?"  
Simone's voice quaked, unsure of the new fervor which had possessed her friend.

Amélie didn't answer and instead dragged Simone forward, attempting to remember the location of the exit as she jogged through the muggy enclosure.

"Amélie, what's wrong?" Simone's voice was rapidly growing shrill as panic began to overtake the younger dancer.

Amélie glanced back at the blonde and shook her head once, sharply; then her face blanched, and she stopped her frantic march forward. Instead, she turned to tackle her younger friend, flattening them both onto the sticky ground. She smacked her hand over Simone's mouth and pointed through the tropical plants.

Simone, eyes wide and hands shaking, followed Amélie's finger. Just a few more meters away, three men in dark uniforms had rounded the corner, huge automatic weapons in their hands. Strange masks covered their faces, and their eyes were lit with artificial red lenses.

She met Amélie's intense stare with a look of pure horror before Amélie gestured towards the thick greenery beside them. Cringing, Simone rolled towards the bushes, and Amélie followed behind her, crouched low and constantly keeping herself between the men in the distance and Simone.

Amélie surveyed their hiding spot. It would buy them a few precious minutes, but it certainly was far from ideal.

Simone, huddled against her side, whispered as quietly as she could, "What is happening? Why are we hiding? Who are they?"

"I don't know," hissed Amélie, a thread of fear causing her voice to waver for just a moment. "But they are here for one, or both, of us."

Amélie was once again forced to dismiss flashes of memories from long ago, punctuated by loud bangs, the scream of an older woman, cries of "Non, pas ma petite fille!"

This was too similar, and she wouldn't let it end the same way. They would both escape from this, somehow.

The boots continued to approach, growing closer by the second.

The dark-haired ballerina scrambled for her purse, digging around in its contents until she withdrew a miniature pistol, its grip fitting comfortably in her grasp. Simone gasped in horror.

"Amélie, why do you have a pistol in your purse?" she hissed.

"Later," she replied curtly. They were almost upon the two women, only a meter away now.

The three men rounded the pathway and stopped.

One spoke, his voice filtered by his mask into an unrecognizable cadence.

"They should be around here somewhere. Fan out and search the foliage."

The three began to investigate the brush, and Amélie drew in a steady breath. She would protect herself and her friend to the best of her abilities- or at least until Simone could escape outside.

The first of the men had come uncomfortably close to their hiding spot, muttering under his breath. He surveyed the patch of dirt within an arm's distance of where the women laid, and then-

Amélie cursed inside her head.

Her dress had ripped, and a swath of the fabric rested on top of the ground. As long as he he didn't lean forward to grab it-

He did, running his gloved fingers over the soft material.

Well, if he didn't swivel his head just a few more inches to the left-

And he did. He jerked back for half a second in surprise, and Amélie shoved Simone's head down against the ground as she raised the tiny gun straight at the man's face and fired.

He didn't even have time to shout or scream as the bullet cracked through his mask and traveled straight through his forehead, and he slumped to the ground.

Simone muffled a shriek into her elbow, terrified beyond belief as the other two armed men immediately swiveled around and raised their weapons, slowly creeping towards the spot where their companion had cried out.

The flanged, artificially altered voice of the leading figure called to them.

"I know you're here now, girls. I demand that you put your weapons down!"

The second one added, "This doesn't have to end with the both of you choking on blood, but you sure as Hell aren't helping things."

Amélie watched them continue their approach. Raising her tiny pistol once more, she pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

The lead figure staggered and dropped to the ground, gasping as holes in his chest plate and pauldron began to spurt blood. He clapped a hand over the wounded shoulder and sank to a knee, trying to keep his breathing steady. His accomplice cried out in anger and began shooting wildly into the greenery as tropical birds took flight in terror.

Amélie curled herself around Simone, who was silently weeping. The bullets continued to fly above them, although thankfully the man failed to aim low enough to hit the two women.

Somewhere, off in the distance, an alarm began to sound. Shouts from outside began to filter in, and police sirens could be heard from far away.

 _"Merde!"_ screamed the kneeling man who oozed with bullets, as his uninjured partner panicked and turned away from the brush. "You fucking bitches!"

Amélie didn't move, watching as the wounded man was dragged to his feet by his accomplice.

The unharmed soldier raised a finger to his covered ear, and shouted. "Calling for evac! We've been detected! Ready a medic!"

He turned back towards the shrubbery and shot a few more rounds towards their approximate direction, cursing at them in a language unknown to Amélie.

Searing pain burned through Amélie's left calf, and she bit her tongue hard enough to fill her mouth with blood. She would not scream and give them away when their attackers were preparing to flee.

The air began to hum and pulse above the ceiling of the greenhouse, and the huge shadow of a dropship formed as it lowered towards the structure. Amélie's eyes widened as she realized what was happening, and she dove over her friend's inert form in panic.

The glass ceiling of the greenhouse shattered to pieces after one swift sonic boom, sharp shards raining down into the fake jungle. Three ropes with metal poles attached to their ends descended into the chaos. The unshot soldier helped his friend over to one, guiding his legs over the bar to sit him on the metal, and the bleeding man was drawn up towards the dropship. He soon followed, although he stood on his steel beam, feet resting on the bar as he held onto the rope.

After he reached the ship, a moment passed before the third wire was drawn up empty.

The dropship's engines roared once again, and it ascended into the sky, leaving utter destruction in its wake.

Amélie's vision began to blur as blood flowed from her calf and numerous gashes from the falling glass.

Her last recollection, as Simone began to scream, was of the bright golds, pinks, and greens of the tropical birds flitting into the cool Parisian September air.

…...

She hurt.

That was her first realization upon waking.

She hurt, and she was ready to go back to sleep.

"Amélie?" asked a lilting, unfamiliar voice. "Amélie, you have slept long enough now."

Amélie drew in a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes. The sterile white of a hospital room greeted her; sunlight trickled in through a window, and two blurry faces peered down at her.

She blinked, and they began to form into more concrete images. Simone watched her, tears in her eyes and her blonde hair free to fan out around her face. The other unknown figure was of a pale, red-headed woman with short, cropped hair and a pointed, angular face. She pursed her lips, surveying a clipboard clutched in her hand.

"You were in rough shape when they brought you to me."

Amélie blinked, still confused. "Where- where are we? Simone, are you alright?" she ashed, turning to her friend and attempting to inspect her well-being.

Simone choked out a watery laugh. "Don't ask about me, ma chérie. I'm fine, thanks to you. As to where we are- well, that's a bit more complicated."

Amélie frowned, confused. "What do you mean? What hospital is this?"

Her friend shook her head. "We aren't in a hospital, Amélie. We're- we're in Switzerland."

The red-headed woman rested a hand on Amélie's shoulder in an attempt to offer a bit of comfort, although her air of boredom made the gesture feel rather hollow.

"Simone's brother works with us- please don't be too alarmed. Perhaps you've heard of our little organization." She offered a small smile.

"Welcome to the headquarters of Overwatch, Amélie Guillard."

…..

Author's Note: Hello, readers! I'm so excited to share my story with you, and I figured I would introduce myself here since things are really picking up. I'm The Mighty Meatloaf, and I fell in love with the Overwatch universe's interesting lore and fun characters. However, I always felt that Widowmaker was overlooked; her background is so horrific and tragic, but it's barely discussed or acknowledged in the game. I wanted to explore who she was before she became Widowmaker. As you've now read, Amélie is a woman of many mysteries. She is a person in her own right, with a past and a story. I'm looking forward to continuing the story of Amélie Guillard, and I hope you've enjoyed everything so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	4. Étrangers

Amélie rested for a few hours longer, still mulling over the events of the previous day. While thankful for Simone's safety, bile rose in her throat and tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she remembered the reverberation of the gun in her palm, the oozing blood, and the cacophony of falling glass. She hoped the birds could be recovered- it was too cold for them in Paris, she thought, and she placed her head in her hands.

After a few minutes, she stretched her long limbs and stood, tired of laying down. She needed to move. She scanned the room and noted a bundle of clothing left on the chair previously occupied by Simone, whose absence was slightly worrisome. Amélie approached the bundle and found some of her own personal items from her flat- a favorite pair of sturdy boots, loose-fitting jeans, and a plain cotton long-sleeved shirt. She dressed, thankful for the comfort of the simple clothing. She noted that her most serious injuries had already faded to nearly nothing, leaving only faint red lines where the skin had been cut deeply. She didn't even need bandages anymore.

As she pulled on her last boot, a soft knock caught her attention and she stood. A muffled voice softly called to her through the door.

"Amélie? Pardon, are you awake?" It was Simone.

Amélie strode to the door and opened it. She was immediately tackled by her small friend, whose embrace knocked the air out of the older girl's lungs.

"Amélie," she sighed, relieved. "I was so worried about you, ma chérie! It's good to see you up and about. Gérard found us after that dropship left, although we almost lost you." Her eyes watered with unshed tears, and her grip on her friend tightened. "You were so brave, Amélie."

The dark-haired Parisian gently squeezed her friend in return before withdrawing from the hug. "Simone, I am glad you are safe, but what happened? Who attacked us? What are Gérard's ties to Overwatch?"

The blonde's face grew solemn. "Gérard works for them. He's apparently a member of an important task force, although he still won't give me much information about it. He told me that he knows who attacked us." She swallowed hard. "Amélie, they were...after me. Because I'm his sister."

Amélie's eyes widened. "Did he have any idea you would be targeted?"

Simone smacked her friend's arm. "I would certainly hope not!" she stated indignantly. "He's awfully shaken up about it- I had to yell at him just so he'd leave me alone long enough to find a bathroom and get rid of all that grime from yesterday."

"He never considered that he could be endangering his sister by affiliation?" Amélie asked, incredulous.

Simone bit her lip. "No," she said softly. "He said family members aren't targeted like this unless they're related to the more famous Overwatch agents- certainly not people like him."

Amélie frowned. "That's barely an excuse. He should've had you protected."

Simone shrugged, then offered a weak smile to her friend. "I think you did that well enough, ma chérie. But-" she hesitated. "But...Amélie, you still have to tell me why you had a gun in your purse, or how you knew what to do in that greenhouse."

No reply was offered; Simone peered up at her tall friend, whose face had twisted into an unrecognizable expression. "Amélie?"

The quiet woman took a deep breath to refocus herself. It was too easy to be swept away and drowned by the past.

"Not now, Simone. It's too soon after yesterday. Ask me again in a little while, alright?"she offered, voice wavering.

The blonde's eyes widened and unspoken questions lingered between them, but she simply squeezed Amélie's hand. "Alright."

…...

Simone led her friend out into the crowded hallway that was filled with scientists and medical staff as they bustled from room to room. They quickly exited the area, and Amélie allowed herself a sigh of relief when the claustrophobic mass of workers began to thin. It was hard for her to stay composed when surrounded by too many strangers.

Finally, they passed a sign which read "Living Quarters/Kaserne," the English and German label sitting above a string of other words in various world languages. Amélie's eyes widened a fraction.

"Simone...why are we in the living quarters? Are we going to speak with Gérard?"

Her friend stiffened momentarily before plastering on a wide smile.

""No, Amélie, I'm taking you to your room! We get to live in Switzerland for a little while! How exciting is that? It's so beautiful, and I can show you around the grounds, and we can go skiing together! Oh, and I could introduce you to-"

Amélie came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, and her friend's forced smile wavered.

"Simone… you can't be serious. Are you implying that- that we're staying? We can't just walk away from the world like it's nothing- I have obligations, things I need to do-" She stopped, face drained of color. Her friend's sickened, nervous look only served to confirm her suspicions.

The blonde's expression cracked completely, and she raised a hand to her lips, shaking her head slowly. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and began to silently roll down her cheeks.

"What about the ballet?" Her composure was failing. "I can't- I'm the lead, the main dancer- I've spent hundreds of hours preparing for that performance!" she said, her voice shaking. "It's my entire life- I'll be ruined if I disappear only three nights into one of the biggest shows of my career! "

"Amélie... I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," whispered Simone, meeting her friend's eyes as she waited for her response.

"Leaving isn't even an option, is it?" Amélie asked, her voice falling into a flat monotone.

"No, ma chérie, it's not."

Amélie only offered a stunned nod in response.

The two women began to walk again, although now in silence. Amélie attempted to processed her new reality. Her world had shattered alongside the roof of that damned greenhouse, and she was left digging through the shards to figure out what she still could piece together.

Simone finally came to a stop, turning back towards her friend and reaching for Amélie's hand before deciding against touching the older dancer.

"It's a fingerprint scanner," she said softly, gesturing towards the panel on the wall nearby.

Amélie nodded and activated the door. It slid into the wall, revealing a small bedroom within. Simone turned to leave, but Amélie quickly caught her by the arm before she could step away and dragged the younger girl into a tight hug that squeezed the breath out of her.

"This isn't your fault, Simone," she stated gently, although her voice was thick with emotion. "It's not, and I'm not mad at you for this- I promise. I'm glad we spent that day together because it meant I could keep you safe, and that's what's important, ma crevette. I'm upset that you were ever in danger at all."

Simone shuddered into Amélie's shoulder and hugged back, looking up at her friend and giving her a real smile- a small, watery one, but a genuine smile all the same.

"I'm so glad you were there, ma chérie," whispered the younger girl, "and, for what it's worth… I wouldn't want to be trapped in Switzerland with anyone else."

Amélie allowed herself a tiny exhale of a laugh as she brushed away a few escaping tears. Simone patted her arm and pointed a little further down the hall. "I'm just a few doors over if you need me, but I figured you would want to settle yourself in. I told the agents who collected your things what you would need- I hope I didn't miss anything too important."

With that, Simone gave a small wave and headed towards her room, leaving Amélie to step inside her new residence.

…..

It wasn't exactly like her cozy, comfortable flat- but she'd lived in worse conditions. The room was decent enough, containing a twin bed, a small couch, a desk, and even a personal computer. A small bathroom was attached, and although Amélie lamented the lack of a bathtub, she was grateful she wouldn't have to deal with a dreaded communal washroom. Several boxes made the room difficult to navigate, and she quickly began sorting through her belongings in order to keep her mind occupied. Simone had remembered all of her favorites- her books, clothes, a ridiculous collection of fluffy blankets, and a favorite tea cup had been brought to her new space. She was grateful for her friend's thoughtfulness, although she wondered where the kitchen would be found if she wanted to brew anything later.

As she finished her organization, she decided tea would definitely help calm her frayed nerves- but to her dismay, her stock had been left in Paris. Merde.

Drumming her fingers against the surface of the desk, she shrugged and scooped up her the mug, figuring that standard Earl Grey might be available somewhere. She stepped out of her room, cup in hand, and began to journey farther down the hallway. She didn't want to bother Simone after such an emotionally charged morning, and so she continued on alone.

Which...in retrospect, she mused, might have been a bad decision. She had no idea where she was going- her mind had been too overwhelmed earlier to truly keep track of directions or locations. She wandered the residential area, passing by rows of doors and occasionally a small seating area. As she passed through yet another corridor, someone else exited their room directly in front of her and she almost bowled into the other person.

"Oh- Amélie!" Gérard said, startled. Simone's brother looked even more exhausted than the last time they had met, his face pale and hair pointing every direction. It seemed like he had fallen asleep on his desk- half of his face carried a red imprint from a flat surface. He looked horrible, she thought to herself. They stared at each other for a painfully tense moment.

"...Dr. O'Deorain reported that you left the hospital wing earlier, but...I didn't want to make a nuisance of myself. How are- how are you feeling?" he asked hesitantly, searching her face for a hint of her thoughts.

Amélie didn't know how to respond. She had meant to wait another day or two for this conversation; she was furious with Gérard's perceived carelessness towards his sister's safety, but the man in front of her unintentionally displayed his stress so openly that it radiated from him in waves, almost thickening the air. She struggled to find words, a host of scathing remarks dancing around in her brain. For some reason, they just didn't seem right.

He watched her carefully, brushing back his dark, disastrous hair to no avail, and spoke.

"You are angry with me. And I completely understand, because I'm so angry with myself that I cannot even...I can't even function right now, Ms. Guillard." He tilted his head away from her, his cheeks burning red with frustration. He continued after she offered no response, almost pleading.  
"I swear to you, in the history of this organization- and I checked this to confirm- in its entire history, the only operatives whose families have been targeted were the high-profile agents, like Morrison or Reinhardt- this is… this is unlike anything before, and...to think my sister, ma petite soeur, could have -"

He sucked in a deep breath. Gérard stayed silent for just a moment before refocusing, his expression growing intensely serious as he met her eyes.

"Do you at least believe me when I say I would willingly give my life for my sister? That the last thing I would ever do-" his voice wavered for a moment, "-would be to knowingly endanger her?"

At this, she gave a curt nod. He stared at her, speech becoming even more frantic.

"And you saved her, Amélie. You saved Simone, and I can't even thank you enough for that. You risked your life to save my sister, and- and what do you have to show for it?"

He exhaled sharply, slicing his hands through the air as he spoke.

"A forced stay in Switzerland. You nearly died yourself because I didn't think Simone was in danger. You don't even have to say a word to me right now, Ms. Guillard. Because I understand if you'd rather not, and I would be more surprised if you did want to talk. But I needed to say that to you." He stared down at the floor for a moment, his rumpled appearance shrinking his typically tall stature. "I needed to thank you for stepping in when I failed."

Amélie bit her lip; should she-

"I… need to get back to work," muttered Gérard, and he turned to step away.

She knew the crushing, inescapable guilt of failing to protect a loved one.

The pain dominating the drained man's face was so sincere that it almost hurt to see, his hunched form ambling away from her as he began to walk down the corridor.

"Wait," the dancer ordered, breaking her silence. "Gérard."

The man jolted, and his step faltered. He glanced back at her, uncertain. "Yes?"

Amélie examined him one more time, finally making a decision as she glanced at the empty mug in her hand.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

….

The kitchen was only a few meters away from Gérard's quarters, to her slight exasperation. He led her into the room and slowly began to talk once more, wary of her presence but pointing out the location of cutlery, pots, pans, and other such necessities. The communal fridge's mysterious odor made her raise an eyebrow in distaste; however, the cabinet containing cereals, instant oatmeals, and breakfast pastries quickly caught her attention as she searched for any sign of tea, pushing aside the instant coffee mixes that dominated the shelves.

Gérard sat at the kitchen table as he watched her search, puzzled, until he realized what she needed.

"You know," he jested tentatively, "it's a bit counterintuitive to invite someone for a cup of tea if you don't actually have any." He attempted a grin.

Amélie turned and raised an eyebrow before resuming her search, and Gérard quickly glanced back down at his hands.

The dancer was certain that at least one canister must exist in the kitchen's stocks. Finally, after excavating the majority of the cabinet, she located a dusty, opened box of tea bags. It was only Earl Grey, and who knew how old it was, but it was something. She carefully returned all the other contents to their rightful places and began to prepare the beverage.

"Gérard," she began, and he looked up at her once more. "What is it that you do here? Truly?"

He shook his head. "I can't go into detail still. It's classified information, even to many other Overwatch agents." He sighed. "Although it's not like keeping it a secret has helped keep my position quiet, apparently."

Amélie inclined her head, acknowledging his answer before turning to open the fridge.

Gérard cocked his head, considering her response. "You know, Simone would follow up that statement with a thousand questions."

She laughed quietly. "I am not Simone. I understand the need for subtlety on occasion."

He smiled for a brief moment before his eyebrows creased in thought.

"Amélie...why did you have a gun? You acted like a trained bodyguard for my sister in that greenhouse- not exactly a prima ballerina's typical skillset."

The dancer continued to focus on her task, moving to the stovetop and warming milk in a saucepan as the tea kettle heated.

The corner of her mouth turned upward. "I can't go into detail still," she said. "It's classified information, even to many of my closest friends- désolé."

Gérard's eyes widened a fraction until his face split into a sincere grin.

"Ah, so she can make jokes! I'll accept it, even if it's at my expense." His expression fell a bit. "Although… while I am inclined to trust you because you saved my sister, my coworkers will likely want a more in-depth answer."

She paused, thinking for a moment before walking over and sitting at the table across from him. A frown flitted across her face as she organized her response. She clenched and unclenched her hands as she considered where to start.

"When I was young," she began slowly, "my family was famous for our wealth and prestige. The Guillard name used to have much more attached to it two decades ago. Many were… envious of that."

Gérard inclined his head, listening carefully.

She continued, tightly weaving her hands together and looking down at the table's surface. "I would rather not… explain the whole story now, as it is difficult for me to discuss. My family had to protect itself from those who preferred to remove us from the world entirely. We were always in danger. As a result, my parents decided to raise me in a...different manner than most children. Know that I was trained to face certain situations, and those skills… they don't ever fade away. Not truly."

The tea kettle whistled, and Amélie abruptly stood. "Do enjoy milk with your tea?" she inquired.

Gérard shook his head, still thinking.

...

They sat together and sipped at their drinks in a silence they both needed. After they were finished, Gérard collected the cups and pots and began washing them off.

"Amélie," he started, breaking the quiet as he scrubbed, "why did you even talk to me today?" He glanced over at the woman.

She stood, walking over to gather her mug from him as he dried it for her.  
"I nearly didn't,"she admitted. "Or- rather, I was prepared to speak with you, but it would have been considerably less pleasant."

He pursed his lips and inclined his head in understanding. "And I would've deserved it, too- so why didn't you take out your anger on me right then? Why did you...invite me for tea?"

She considered him for a moment. "Because I believed you in the hallway, Gérard. Everything you said. And I've been in your position before, felt what you were feeling in that moment. I understood."

He gave one sharp nod, turning back to the sink as Amélie stepped away.

"I'm...sorry to hear that. I wish you didn't understand," he responded quietly.

"As do I, Gérard." She turned and stepped away.

"Bonne soirée, Amélie," he answered softly as she slipped back out into the corridors of Overwatch's headquarters.

…


End file.
